Strike a Pose
by angel-death-dealer
Summary: She knows, just from the snigger in his eyes, that he's found them. It happens on their third morning in Stark Tower, and she had an awful feeling that leaving the men to their 'male bonding' that Tony insisted on was going to bite her in the ass, because there was a reason she hadn't been invited, and the way that Clint followed her with his eyes told her exactly why.


She knows, just from the snigger in his eyes, that he's found them.

It happens on their third morning in Stark Tower, and she had an awful feeling that leaving the men to their 'male bonding' that Tony insisted on was going to bite her in the ass, because there was a reason she hadn't been invited, and the way that Clint followed her with his eyes told her exactly why.  
It was also the same reason that Bruce was reading the newspaper too intently, Steve was blushing into his coffee and Tony was sitting with his head down like a scolded child.

She slammed her coffee mug on the table as she took a seat opposite Clint but said nothing, glaring at him in warning but he just grinned back, which angered her even more.

She went about her morning routine, enjoying the obvious discomfort of the others, and all the while he was there and he was grinning and he had that stupid grin on his face that she just wanted to punch.

But as Bruce handed her the newspaper and left the room, mumbling about research, she felt it - the teasing touch of bare toes against her bare shin. She made no reaction, but the grin across from her intensified as it wrapped the foot entirely around her lower leg, dragging it further under the table until she reacted by kicking his ankle.

Clint cleared his throat and looked over at Tony, keeping his attention of Natasha now and focusing on their somewhat hungover teammate instead. "So, Stark, I was thinking about what you said last night about team building."

Tony looked up, as if he couldn't quite believe that's what he had in mind. "You were?"

"Yeah," Clint nodded brightly. "I think that you were right, that we should...model ourselves into more of a team."

Model. There was a seduction in the way he said the word, and her eyes flickered up to him with their most dangerous look yet. He'd seen them. The photographs.

He continued, this time his eyes on her. "I think it's important, given that a lot of the time we're left standing around looking lost. I think we should be more focused on...posing."

Tony remained silent, looking at Natasha warily and then at Clint. He blurted out one sentence: "It was Jarvis' malfunction, I didn't show him on purpose," and then bolted from the room. Steve had vanished sometime before, but had been more stealthy in his exit, so the two former assassins were alone. A silence fell upon them, until Clint casually remarked into his coffee mug: "so...was that your underwear or did S.H.I.E.L.D spring for that?"

She threw the newspaper down and glared at him.

He shrugged. "I'm just saying, it's nothing you've showed me before-"

"And it's nothing you'll ever see now," she told him.

"Why, you threw it away?" he asked, sounding childishly heartbroken.

"No," she said calmly. "But I'm considering removing your eyeballs after breakfast."

He took the threat with a laugh - the only person who could do so and not have their neck snapped - and shook his head. "Unbelievable, I'm stuck in New Mexico getting sand in my ass and you're in some photo studio pouting for the camera-"

"I do whatever the mission requires," she recited.

"I'm sure that the cameraman was a S.H.I.E.L.D Agent, given the nature of the mission, so my question is: when he realised the Black Widow was giving him a "come fuck me" look for the camera, did he get a boner or did he have a heart attack?"

She didn't dignify him with an answer, but as she recalled the look on his face had been a mixture of the two. "You're a pig."

"You're hot," he shrugged back.

"Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere."

"Then don't think of it as a compliment," he told her. "Although I've seen a few things that do complement you... white furry rugs, schoolgirl outfits...black lace..." He stopped when the newspaper she was reading was thrown in his face. "Come on, Nat, I'm just kidding-"

"But you saw the photos."

"Oh yes," he grinned with appreciation.

"I'm assuming you have copies."

"Copies?" he smirked. "I've sent off for a poster-sized version."

She glared at him.

"I'm not kidding," he told her, still smiling. "I plan to put it on my ceiling."

The sound of broken mugs could be heard throughout the building.


End file.
